Madrigal -

Rest thee, desire, gaze not at such a star;

Sweet fancy, sleep; love, take a nap awhile;

My busy thoughts that reach and roam so far,

With pleasant dreams the length of time beguile;

Fair Venus, cool my over-heated breast,

And let my fancy take her wonted rest.

Cupid abroad was lated in the night,

His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;

Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight,

To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain;

My door I op'd, to grant him his desire,

And rose myself to make the wag a fire.

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,

I spied his quiver hanging at his back:

I fear'd the child might my misfortune frame,

I would have gone for fear of further wrack;

And what I drad, poor man, did me betide,

For forth he drew an arrow from his side.

He pierc'd the quick, that I began to start;

The wound was sweet, but that it was too high,

And yet the pleasure had a pleasing smart:

This done, he flies away, his wings were dry;

But left his arrow still within my breast,

That now I grieve I welcom'd such a guest.